


Put on Your War Paint

by thevalesofanduin



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Everybody Dies, Gen, Post-BOFA, legendarium ladies april, this is just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The journey has ended to everyone's great relief yet the battle has been won against great cost. Dis, now last of the line of Durin, has nothing left except a kingdom she doesn't want.</p><p>Queen Under the Mountain. She'd rather die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put on Your War Paint

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually had this fic finished a long time but never posted it until now...
> 
> It was inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_h_Cftesm7c) by Fall Out Boy (albeit a sped-up version of the song because I love that one more).

Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror of the Line of Durin and in her days third in line of the throne of Erebor had always prided herself on being strong.

She hasn’t been raised a princess for the kingdom always said to be hers was taken from her when she was naught but ten.

She hasn’t lived in abundance for everything her family ever owned was left in the kingdom as they fled it.

She hasn’t had much family, for her brother, father and grandfather passed when she was only thirty-three. Frerin and her grandfather heroically going down in the Battle of Azanulbizar – which also scarred Thorin for life, more inside than out. Her father is a different story. But they don’t speak of that.

She hasn’t had a husband for long. Madly in love they had been, Fili the crown on their perfect marriage and a second blessing on its way. But the hands of death have taken much from her. Her husband no different from the others.

So she is strong, for she hasn’t had much of anything. She has almost everything she ever treasured taken from her. But she has been happy.

Until Thorin decided the time to reclaim the kingdom she never cared for was now.

\---

Every time footsteps pass her rooms, she holds her breath.

Rumours are aplenty and she tries not to hear them but she does. The dragon has been defeated, the kingdom has been claimed, there has been a battle.

She will believe none of it until she reads it with her own eyes.

 

Footsteps in the hallway make her breath hitch in her throat.

They are getting closer and closer and soon they will be going further and further. They always do.

 _No news comes from the dead._ She thinks.

Then there is a knock on her door and her blood runs cold.

“Lady Dis, I come with news from Erebor.”

She rushes to the door, opens it impatiently and with wide eyes demands of the messenger: “Good or bad?”

The messenger pales. He does not answer her question, merely hands her a scroll. “It is all in here.”

She takes the scroll, later not quite remembering that she told the messenger off and without another word or thought turned to walk towards her chair. She doesn’t remember the messenger closing the door, grief on his face. She doesn’t remember sitting down, opening the scroll.

The words she reads, though, will haunt her until her dying day.

_“To Lady Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror of the house of Durin and Queen of Erebor._

_My dear Dis.”_

She knows.

She doesn't need to read the rest of the letter to know that her brother and sons have fallen in battle. She doesn't need to read the rest of the letter to know that it is Dwalin writing her. She doesn't need to read at all to know she will have to go to Erebor as quickly as she can. Not to celebrate her brother’s coronation, though, as she has foolishly hoped for such a long time. Instead, it is she that will be crowned while her brother and sons will be buried.

Her hands shake, the letter slipping through her fingers and falling to the ground where it lies forgotten as, within the comforts of her own room, Dis lets her strong mask break and cries.

\---

Riding up to Erebor, Dis feels devastated.

She wants to cry, to scream, she wants to tear down the mountain she now truly sees for the first time. She wishes for nothing more than to find the spot where her little stars died, lie down and never get up again.

The line of Durin is cursed and she is the living proof of that.

 

At the gate a small group of dwarves is gathered.

A welcoming-party for the queen.

She straightens her back, lifts her chin and puts her mask back in place. Her guards are behind her - loyal guards that have been with her for her entire life and have seen the anguish she has gone through on the road to Erebor - looking as impassive as she does.

As they ride closer Dis starts feeling noxious. No colour is on her face, her hands are tight around the reigns of her pony and it's a good thing she is riding because she fears if she were walking her entire body would just have refused to move.

The sickening feeling only gets worse when she comes close enough to recognize the dwarves waiting for her.

The sight of Dain does not do her much. She cares little for him and his wishes to rule the mountain. He can have it for all she cares.

What makes her head feel dizzy is the fact that the former company of her brother is there. She lets her eyes slide over them, counting.

She feels her stomach turn when she realizes they are with ten. Ten members of the company which left Ered Luin with thirteen. It is like someone has grabbed the knife plunged into her chest upon the letter's arrival and started twisting it.

She knows it is not their fault, but she cannot help but feel an intense hatred towards the dwarves that served her brother loyally by following him to Erebor. And lived while her brother and darling sons perished.

She is quite satisfied, though, to see many of them are harmed. Bandaged, leaning on sticks and some dreadfully skinny.

Then she sees Dwalin.

Dwalin, son of Fundin, shield-brother of Thorin, mentor of both Fili and Kili and trusted friend of Dis herself.

But he isn’t all of that now.

Now he is the warrior that swore to her to protect her dear ones. The one that said _“I shall die before letting death claim them”_ before leaving on the quest. The one that is still alive, while her _dear ones_ lay buried in tombs.

Her lips tighten into a thin line when she catches his eyes. Her eyes cold was winter.

Dwalin breaks their gaze, lowers his head in shame.

She takes him in. He doesn’t really look that different from when the company had left Ered Luin. He doesn’t look too hurt, doesn’t have that many bandages. There are no new scars. She sees no missing limbs.

She hates it.

She hates how un-hurt he is while _he_ is the one that should have died.

But she likes how he looks like he is ready to kill himself out of guilt, how he – 

Her thoughts come to a stumbling halt and she squints her eyes.

She wasn’t close enough to see before, but now that they are near the gates and thus the welcoming party she notices.

Dwalin has cut his beard.

It warms a part of her cold heart, be it very small.

Cutting his beard - not just his braids, his beard - Dwalin isn't just showing respect. Isn't just saying he feels guilt. That is what cutting ones braids shows. Cutting ones beard, however, is much more severe. Yes, it is done out of respect but it is also done out of grief, guilt. It was once said that a dwarf is not a dwarf without a beard. That is essentially what the impact of cutting ones beard is. You aren't a dwarf, be it out of dishonour or a wish to die. You might as well be dead.

So the fact that Dwalin cut his beard makes Dis happy. Perhaps it is cruel that she is happy by the fact her friend wishes or considers himself dead.

Perhaps.

She doesn't care.

 

"My Lady," Dain bows his head deeply when Dis and her company are standing before him.

Dis regards him coolly and nods her head. "Dain."

"Welcome to Erebor." Dain offers her a weak smile, speaking only out of formality.

_Erebor_

This is it. She is here.

The one place in the world that her brother would give up his life for.

Not only his.

She hadn’t seen it in Ered Luin, but she can see it clear as day now. Thorin had been ready to sacrifice everything he had just for this kingdom. And he selfishly had.

“My Queen.”

She startles slightly, not having noticed that Dwalin had moved to stand next to her pony. She turns her eyes to him. He is holding out his hand for her to take, to help her step down as a loyal guard would for his queen.

She looks him into the eyes, holding his gaze with impassive and cold eyes until he lowers his own eyes to the ground. Then she swings her leg over the saddle and slides down to the ground without any help, completely ignoring Dwalin’s outstretched hand.

It is unbelievably rude, she knows. Shows she holds little to no respect for the warrior that is offering her a hand out of respect of her title – and not because he thinks she can’t get off of the pony by herself.

Dwalin looks like he has been kicked in the gut and lowers his hand so quickly it is like he got burned. He swallows, bows his head to her and steps back to stand with the other dwarves of the company.

She raises her head to look at them, allowing her eyes to slide over every single one of them.

Dain shuffles in his spot, regarding the situation feeling awkward. He scrapes his throat.

Dis turns her head, eyes sharp and demanding as she silently commands Dain to speak up after having disturbed her.

“Let us go inside.” Dain turns to walk, beckoning Dis to follow. “Your journey must have been long and tiresome.”

She nods. “Aye, it was.” She turns away from Dain, however, facing the company yet again. She takes the few steps separating them from her. “Yet no longer than it has been for you.” She addresses the company. “The Heroes of Erebor.” She bows her head and then looks at the company again. “I shall hear your stories, I am sure. Of the journey and your perils.”

She sees a few of them nod, looking proud.

“Of my brother and my sons.”

She isn’t sure if she has seen pride turn to guilt so fast before.

She turns to Dain. “Yes, let us go inside now.”

Dain can only nod and lead the way. He is in no position to comment on her words, nor shall he. Dis walks next to him, followed by her guards and the company. “We have a room prepared for you. Not everything is as it was, but it is grand and fit for your stature, I assure you. There you can rest, if you wish.”

Dis shakes her head. The foolishness of these dwarves, treating her like a queen while they should be treating her as a grieving mother.

“I wish to see my sons’ and brother’s tombs.”

It is as if the world seizes to move for a second and like everyone is holding their breath.

Everyone save for Dis who keeps walking without looking back. 

She wishes to be with her loved ones and if she can’t be with them while they are alive, then she will be with them where they lay dead.

Dain rushes to her, having fallen behind in his frozen moment of surprise. “Of course. I shall guide you there –”

“No.” Dis interrupts Dain. “You shall not.” 

Dain looks confused.

Dis glances backwards over her shoulder. She catches Balin’s eyes, which are filled with sadness, resignation and just a tad bit of anger.

He knows.

“The company shall guide me there.” She says, her tone booking no argument. Not that anyone would argue. She _is_ queen-to-be after all and if she wishes for the Company of Thorin Oakenshield to bear witness to her grief, they can only obey.

From her right, she can see Dain looking at her with a dark frown. She knows what he is thinking now. That _he_ is a better fit leader for Erebor than she is.

He is right.

For the only way she shall rule this mountain is as a cruel queen that mourns the loss of everything she had and blaming the kingdom she rules for it.

Yet she also knows it will not come to that.

\---

After visiting the tombs – an emotional affair which left more than only her with tears in her eyes and a slightly quivering voice – Dis excuses herself to her rooms. Her guards follow her, as they always do, and whether she wants to or not, so does Dwalin.

She doesn’t protest even though she could, knowing that if she does and tells him to leave her he will. But she wants him with her, as he most likely realizes too. It’s not just for comfort, even though the familiar presence of her friend at her back is comforting in a way. It is also because she wishes to speak to him, alone. She wants to vent, to put her anger on display and to finally demand answers from the one that was there. The one she secretly – and perhaps unfairly – blames for this all.

 

When they arrive to her rooms, she tells her guards to stay outside and give Dwalin and her some privacy. They go inside and the moment the door closes, Dwalin speaks.

“Dis,” he says, voice slightly hesitant but the normal fondness that comes every time he speaks her name is also there.

She thinks he has no right to call her by her name without titles anymore. He has thrown away that right. But that doesn’t mean that her name spoken in that tone doesn’t give her some sort of comfort. She hates him, hates his guts but she also wants nothing more than for Dwalin to hug her so she can finally let go.

Angry with herself, she stalks to the fireplace, watching the flames as she silently seethes.

“Dis.” Dwalin tries again.

It is enough for her to direct her anger towards him.

"You!" She turns her back to the fireplace, glaring at Dwalin who is still standing at the door. She is shaking, nostrils flaring and her throat feels dry. When she speaks, her voice is loud, close to screaming. “H-how dare you be alive!"

Dwalin draws in a stuttering breath. “I don’t know.” He manages through clenched teeth, voice strained. He lowers his eyes to the floor. “Some days I wish I wasn’t.”

Dis feels something tugging at her heart. The part that still sees Dwalin as the friend he was before all of this. The friend he probably still is, if it wasn’t for her intense grief. For the first time since her entire journey, she doesn’t know what to say. 

Dwalin looks up at her when he receives no reply, hopeful. “I swear that there is nothing I wish for more than have Thorin and the lads standing here instead of me.”

“Well, that makes two of us” she states, shoulders tense and hands shaking. “Yet only one of us could have changed this.” She narrows her eyes at him, jaw clenched and voice a low hiss as she demands: “What happened? You were supposed to protect them! What in Mahal’s name happened?!”

Dwalin flinches at the tone, the hatred, the sadness. "I lost track of them in battle." He explains, his voice full of anguish and cracking when he speaks. He clenches his hands into fists at his sides, looks down to the ground and he actually has tears in his eyes. "By the time I found them, they were..." He swallows.

"Dead?" Dis demands, voice trembling.

Dwalin hesitates. Then, he whispers: "Overrun."

Dis shivers, trying to imagine the battle. The chaos, the adrenaline, the _fear_. "My babies, were they...” She asks, voice breaking and she feels a lone tear slip down her cheek. She can’t say it. She _can’t_.

“Grand.” Dwalin swallows, voice soft and thick. Through the grief, there is a hint of pride in his voice. A pride that makes him look up at Dis when he says: “Brave, strong, the lads were every bit the warrior they always wanted to be. They gave all they had protecting Thorin and... and they didn’t give up.” He lowers his eyes and swallows, hands clenching at his sides. “Though we all wished they would.”

Dis’ entire body trembles and more tears than just one are falling from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks and dripping into her sideburns. 

She can’t keep it in anymore. Can’t keep up the mask of being fine, of being strong. Because really she isn’t.

She is a mourning mother and sister and she is finally breaking.

Then Dwalin rushes forward, heavy footsteps against a stone floor.

Before she knows what’s happening he has strong arms wrapped around her and he pulls her head to his chest, so she can cry and hide from the world.

There is a small part of her that wants to push him away. That wants to hit his chest. That wants to _hurt_ him because of what he’s done to her.

But it is but a small part.

And when she feels the way his hands tremble and realizes that it’s not just his hands, it is his entire body, the anger fades away. Because Dwalin, the tough, stoic warrior, is crying.

He is grieving just as her.

It doesn’t make it better, but it makes it less worse.

 

“What will you do?” Dwalin asks her later, after both their tears have subsided and she has pulled herself together again – as has he. “Will you stay here and rule this kingdom?”

She can’t answer the question. Or at least, not out loud and especially not to Dwalin.

He won’t understand and even through everything she wants to spare him this bit of guilt. So she says she doesn’t know, that she has yet to decide for truly what is this kingdom to her if her sons and brother are not there?

Dwalin doesn’t know what to say to that and he doesn’t ask again.

She knows that if he had, she would have broken and told him. For the decision weighs on her like nothing ever has before and right now all she wants is a comfort she cannot have. So it is good that he does not ask again. For he would surely stop her if he knows and then, she will never get the comfort she is looking for.

\---

A few days later she puts on her best dress - the one saved for years and years for Thorin's coronation.

She wears all her jewellery - the crown made by her father, the necklace made by Frerin, the bracelets made by Thorin and the earrings, one of each made by her sons.

As a queen of the house of Durin she walks through Erebor. The kingdom she never truly lived in. The kingdom which has taken _everything_ from her. 

But she walks with her head held high and all she passes bow their head be it in respect or grief.

She walks into the tomb-room and orders the guards that follow her to remain outside and close the door.

“Do not open it unless I tell you so.” She says, voice calm and steady, her eyes commanding.

“Yes, M’lady.” They answer, almost in chorus.

She nods and does allow a shiver to rake her body when the sound of the door closing echoes through the room.

Staring straight ahead she sees the tombs of her brother and sons.

Thorin in the middle with Fili to his right, Kili to his left.

Her sweet boys, all three of them.

From the other side of the door she can hear a ruckus. Dwalin is screaming bloody murder, demanding the door to be opened.

Luckily she has servants loyal only to her. They will die before they open that door without her word.

A word that will not come.

She sits down onto the ground, her back against the cold stone of Thorin’s tomb.

She wants to be with her family again.

Her father, her brothers, her _sons_.

So she closes her eyes and waits.

Waits for death to claim her.


End file.
